


Those Who Do Can Always Find a Friend

by thesometimeswarrior



Series: The Grand Lotus [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Order of the White Lotus, Pre-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/thesometimeswarrior
Summary: "'Why...are you...helping me?'The man stops, considers for a moment. 'Because you fought for this village. You defended that boy from those Fire Nation soldiers. You possibly even killed them in the effort—'(Here, Iroh’s stomach gives a lurch, and he feels an urge to vomit entirely different to the previous one.)'—and when I saw you collapse, I knew that it was soul-sickness. And no one should have to endure that alone.'”Iroh, abandonment, and critical decisions. Or: what a broken general does after the siege.





	

_The young man stands before him in his officer’s uniform, still, smiling, and for an instant Iroh is overjoyed, doesn't even notice the liquid welling up in his eyes._

_“Lu Ten…” he whispers in disbelief._

_But then he blinks, and suddenly, it is not his son before him, but rather the boy, the boy from the village, Lu Ten’s uniform sitting loose and awkward on his small body. And above him, Iroh sees suddenly, there is a massive flaming boulder, large enough to crush any number of men, much less one small child, hot enough, it seems, to burn through armor, much less one small child of too fragile human flesh...And the child does not see it...the child is not moving...and Fire and Earth come crashing down together in one single object…_

“NO!” Iroh jolts up from his lying position, panting, sweating. And instantaneously, before he can even question where he is and how he got here like any proper general would, he is overcome with powerful nausea and vertigo.

“I wouldn’t sit up, if I were you.” 

Iroh squints, trying to localize the voice, until the vertigo—and a pounding in his head—becomes unbearable. Slowly, he eases himself back to the bedroll, and when he speaks, he is alarmed to hear how faint he finds his voice. “Where...am I?”

“My house,” responds the mystery voice. A blurry figure of a man—thin, and slightly older than Iroh, with green eyes and a grey beard—swims into Iroh’s view and places a cool, wet cloth onto the deserter’s clammy forehead. 

“And...who...are you?”

“The one who’s currently taking care of you. I assume you don’t mind, _Your Highness._ ” The man practically spits the title, his voice laden with sarcasm, and Iroh feels hot shame gather in his already feverish cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to know...no one here was supposed to know that he was even Fire Nation, let alone a General, the Dragon of the West, the _Crown Prince_. And yet…

“Why...are you...helping me?”

The man stops, considers for a moment. “Because you fought for this village. You defended that boy from those Fire Nation soldiers. You possibly even killed them in the effort—”

(Here, Iroh’s stomach gives a lurch, and he feels an urge to vomit entirely different to the previous one.) 

“—and when I saw you collapse, I knew that it was soul-sickness. And no one should have to endure that alone.”

“Soul...sickness?”

“Ah, yes. Sickness of the soul. Your critical decision. You did something so contrary to your image of yourself that you are now at war with yourself in your own mind and body. It is not a pleasant experience, I am afraid.”

“I see.”

“There is nothing to be done except wait it out. Let the fever take its course, let the body fight until there is no more fighting left for it to do. And try to relax your mind so that you can process its turmoil. With that, this should help.”

And, without turning his head, Iroh hears the pouring of some liquid. “What is it?”

“Tea. Ginseng. Do you like tea?”

“Yes.” Again he attempts to sit up, to reach for the porcelain cup, and, to his surprise, the hand that immediately finds his shoulder, pressing on it to urge him to remain lying down is exceedingly gentle.

“No, do not sit up. I will help you.” And he does, placing his hand on the back of Iroh’s neck, tenderly moving his head forward, and then placing the cup to Iroh’s lips. “I recommend taking small sips.”

Iroh does so, and in retrospect, he will think that it took him entirely too long—not until after he gradually finished the tea, after the man helped him to lay back down—to utter the words: “Thank you.”

The man is silent for a moment, apparently as stricken that a Fire Nation Prince would deign to _thank_ an Earth Kingdom villager as Iroh will one day be that it took him as long to do so as it did. When the villager finally does speak, it is not to respond to the sentiment. “You look weary,” he says. “Rest now. We will talk more when you awaken.”

* * *

_His face is hot, made hotter by the flames in front of the thrones before which he prostrates himself._

_“Prince Iroh!” say the combined voices of his father and grandfather, both sitting regally in front of him. “You have been found guilty of High Treason against the Fire Nation and against me! You know the punishment of such a crime.”_

_“No,” he responds. “No please, Father, Grandfather, I am sorry!”_

_“I am merciful,” they both respond simultaneously. “And have decided to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”_

_“Thank you, Father. Thank you, Grandfather. What must I do?”_

_“Execute the convict.” And they motion to the guards—and Iroh starts as he recognizes them as the soldiers from the village—bringing in a figure in chains._

_It takes a moment for him to recognize the face of the prisoner, and when he does he howls. “No! Please, Father, Grandfather! I will do anything, anything but that.”_

_“Execute the prisoner, Prince Iroh!” they snap, their voices becoming increasingly dangerous. “Or I will, and have you executed beside!”_

_“No, please! Please, not my son!”_

_The Fire Lords seem to sigh, and motion to the solider-guards, once of which prepares a bending stance. Lu Ten stares at his father desperately, beseechingly, from his chains as the other soldier-guard holds him fast._

_“No!” shouts Iroh, propelling flames at both solider-guards. But they are too close to Lu Ten, and Iroh realizes too late that the fire catches him too. And when it, and the smoke, clears, the solider-guards’ bodies lay on the palace floor motionless next to that of their equally motionless captive._

“AH!” Iroh’s eyes shoot open.

The village man places another wet rag onto Iroh’s head. “Another hallucination?”

“Not a...hallucination. A...dream.”

“Mere semantics, Your Highness.”

“Why do you...call me that?”

“Well, as the Fire Nation soldiers in the village were eager to proclaim, you _are_ the great General Iroh, Dragon of the West, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, are you not?”

“I...I was.”

“Oh? Are you not still?”

“I...I do not know.”

“Do I sense your critical decision, General?”

Iroh is silent.

The other man sighs, kneels beside Iroh’s torso, softens. “Listen, the only way through this sort of illness is for you to process what has happened. It’s the only way you are going to stop warring within yourself enough to heal.”

“Then I shall be...ill...for a very...long time.”

“Speaking of it _will_ help.”

The General hesitates, then inhales and exhales once each before finally relenting. “How much...do you know...of the War?”

“More than you might assume,” responds the other. “And perhaps more than others in this village. I know, for instance, that you commanded a siege of Ba Sing Se for over a year and a half—it seemed as though you would conquer it—and then, suddenly, a little over a month ago, abandoned it.”

“Many people...were killed...in that siege. Not just soldiers. Civilians as well. Children. And not just Earth Kingdom people.”

“Yes, well, that is what tends to happen in war.”

“A truth that I was blind to…”

For the first time, Iroh’s caretaker drops his facade, widening his mouth in disbelief. “Even after—after so much of your life in the military?”

“Over thirty years...fighting for my Nation.”

“And in all that time, you didn't know, they did not _tell_ you, that you were—that people were dying...that your own soldiers, even, were being killed at the front?”

“Of course I knew. I was an _officer_...I performed my men's funeral rites to Agni. But I did not _see_...did not _understand_...until…”

The other man hovers his voice scarcely above a whisper. “Until?”

Iroh says nothing, merely closes his eyes. 

His companion, however, remains resolute. “General, what changed?”

“My Lu Ten…” utters Iroh quietly, after several moments more. “My son…fell...in battle...at Ba Sing Se.”

“I am sorry.”

Iroh, eyes closed, appears not to have heard him. “And...in my...grief, in my suffering, I...suddenly saw that every person that my Nation had...killed, every person whom _I_ had...killed in my Nation’s name...even each...son of the Fire Nation who went and killed and died for her...was someone’s beloved Lu Ten. I not only killed... _my_ Lu Ten, I...I killed _countless_ Lu Tens, or maimed them....Knowing...the anguish of losing a child, how could I...continue...the siege...when so many were...How could I…even...serve a Nation that continually...murders and destroys...children...for its own gain?” He pauses again. “And yet, in trying to protect... that child...in the village, I...killed.”

“They were torturing the child. They very well might have killed _him._ ”

“But does that... _can_ that justify my killing someone...someone’s sons...sons of _my_ Nation...or what _was_ my Nation? I...I do not know.” As he speaks he feels a wave of exhaustion pass over his brow.

The village man seems to notice. He lays a hand on Iroh’s shoulder. “You have done well, General. Rest.” 

Iroh does not remain awake long enough to hear the end of the sentence.

* * *

_“Dad!” cries the boy, and Iroh brushes the petals that the orchard has bestowed upon him off his shoulders as he rises to greet him._

_“Dad, look!” calls the boy again. And emanating from Lu Ten’s palm, there is a small flame growing and shrinking to pace like a heartbeat._

_He sweeps the boy into his arms, careful to leave his palm steady. He should caution his son, explain the dangers of Fire-Bending, emphasize the need for care and vigilance, and he will. He_ will _. But for now, he is content to hold the boy, to plant a kiss on his forehead, to revel in the warmth that his son creates for them both._

When Iroh’s eyes flutter open this time, he finds that not only are his eyes wet, he is also drenched in sweat, and the pounding sensation is gone from his head. 

He proceeds cautiously as he tries to sit up, but, this time, no vertigo or nausea come. For the first time, he takes index of his surroundings: the house is small, a single, sparse room that seems to be built of dried mud. Immediately Iroh’s eye is drawn to the one elegant item in sight — an ornate wooden Pai Sho table. It seems exceedingly out of place when compared to the dwelling’s few other furnishings: a chamber-pot in one corner, a small furnace in another, next to which his host sits warming a plain porcelain teapot, and a few scattered mats (though, Iroh realizes significantly, no other bedrolls. More guilt pangs in his chest at the implication that the other man has slept on the floor while caring for him.) 

“Tea, General?” asks his host without moving from his corner.

“Yes.” Iroh slowly stands and walks over to meet the other man, and then kneels beside him, and as a seeming afterthought, adds: “Please.”

The other man rewards him with both a porcelain cup of tea and a small smile. “You’re looking better.”

Iroh nods. “I believe my fever has broken.”

“Indeed.”

“Physically, I feel restored.”

“And otherwise?”

Iroh takes a thoughtful sip of his tea. “I still anguish for my child.”

“That is not likely to change, I’m afraid.” He says it compassionately, like, Iroh thinks, a man who can not only empathize but can also _understand_. Iroh almost asks how he knows, who he lost, and it is only the decorum drilled into him during his Palace upbringing that prevents him.

“But something did become clear to me,” Iroh continues.

“Oh?”

“I cannot return to the Fire Nation. I will be their prince and general no longer.”

“I see.”

“But these are all I know how to be. I have no other path.”

The other man sips his tea, eyes Iroh thoughtfully for several moments, before finally asking: “Tell me, Iroh—it _is_ Iroh, isn't it?—do you play Pai Sho?”

This question is so strangely banal, so out of place, that Iroh almost laughs despite himself as he responds. “Why, yes.”

“Then let us play.” 

Once they have both been seated at the ornate Pai Sho table in the center of the house, the village man says: “I believe the guest has the first move.”

But Iroh thinks that he has already acted discourteously, already been too entitled with his host, and if he is going to renounce his royalty, then there is no better time than the present to begin to yield his privileges. “Please,” he says, shaking his head and motioning to the table. “I insist.”

“As you wish,” responds Iroh’s host, removing a tile from the pouch, and placing it on the board.

“The _lotus_ tile?” Iroh asks, staring disbelieving and skeptical at the piece before him. In his fifty years of playing Pai Sho, he has never seen anyone actually use the tile in gameplay. It is, he had thought, a relic from the game’s origins, a charming anachronism, and nothing more. “Few people favor such...such ancient ways.”

“Perhaps. But I think you will find,” the other man counters, chuckling. “That those who do can always find a friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I live and breathe for comments!


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